Son Decembre (Fin)

It is a false finale; the buildings collapsing
will spring up again tomorrow, the dead sun
will roll over, dust itself off and rise.
This sincere death is but a molting,
this body just a layer of skin.
Deep beneath the frozen ground, ticking life makes a liar
of her perceived tragedy.
She said, it has never been this dark before.
He said, look, already the sky grows lighter.

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